Howard walked into the greenhouse and frowned. Maybe not so unexpectedly, the cactus was also attending Teacher Botan’s class. Not only that, but it appeared to have been waiting for quite some time because it was sitting in the middle seat of the front row. Howard couldn’t tell if what the cactus was doing could actually be called sitting though. It had pushed the chair aside, and was standing in front of the desk with its stubby little legs slightly bent. Since Howard wanted to make a good impression on Teacher Botan, he naturally had to sit next to the cactus in the second-best seat within the room. Although the classroom was already half-filled, the region around the cactus was empty.

Howard recalled the rumors he had heard when he was younger. Whenever a spiritually enlightened cactus sneezed, its spines would shoot out like shrapnel in a grenade. There were many such rumors about different plants: such as, creeper vines could see through their leaves, and it wouldn’t be unusual for them to grow some vines in some dark corners to peep on people. Spiritually enlightened trees enjoyed tripping people by shifting their roots around when people were walking past them. Now that Howard thought about it, there weren’t any good rumors about spiritually enlightened plants. Either they were detestable, or the sources he had heard them from were biased.

If the rumors about cactuses were true, then if Howard sat next to the cactus, surely, Teacher Botan would have a good impression of him, a man willing to risk being turned into a pincushion for the sake of her lesson. Howard sat down with no intentions of getting to know the cactus. Like how farmers didn’t name the animals they were planning on eating, Howard didn’t want to know anything about the cactus either. However, the cactus had other intentions. It turned its head, stared at Howard, then opened its mouth. “Hello, friend of flesh. My name is Green Spines. When I was born, my spines were green, so I was named as such. What is your name?”

Why was the cactus so chatty? Weren’t plants supposed to be taciturn and silent? Howard’s expression darkened. If he really greeted this cactus, what if he grew attached to it? A sigh escaped from Howard’s mouth, and he nodded at his fellow classmate. Even if he was planning on killing the cactus, he wasn’t planning on being rude to it too. “I’m Howard,” Howard said, shutting his mouth and turning towards the empty chalkboard.

Whether it was because cactuses didn’t understand human body language or whether it was because it didn’t care about what Howard thought, Green Spines leaned over, nearly stabbing Howard with its spines, and whispered, “You’re the student who got first-place in the entrance examination, aren’t you? When we have tests in this class, do you mind if I cheat off of you? I’m not very good at remembering things.”

“There shall be no cheating in my class!” a sharp voice said, resounding throughout the room like a metallic gong. The reverberations caused Howard’s stomach to feel uneasy, and he nearly vomited out his breakfast. How strong did someone have to be to cause internal injuries through sound alone? Howard didn’t know, but he guessed it required one to be in the golden-core stage at the very least. It was only after the nausea went away that he registered what had been said. Clearly, the cactus was horrible at whispering, and the teacher had heard what it said. Regret flooded Howard’s mind. Why did he have to sit next to the cactus? Whose stupid idea was it?

[It was your idea, user.]

Even the system was kicking him when he was down! Howard took in a deep breath and straightened his back. A woman walked into the room and shut the door behind her. She looked like a rose. Literally. She was a spiritually enlightened rose. Her stem was as tall as a normal adult woman’s. With the flower added on top of her body, she could look down on any human adult. Two stems jutted out from the center of the flower, and there were eyeballs firmly attached to their ends. They reminded Howard of ant antennae with the way they twitched and moved to see everyone in the class. As for the rose’s mouth, Howard had no idea how it had spoken. There wasn’t any part of its body that resembled a speaking hole. He guessed it was inside the depths of the flower.

“I am Teacher Botan,” the rose said, walking—if it could even be called walking—across the front of the room. It had hundreds of root tendrils near the base of its stem, and they wriggled and squirmed ahead like starved eels, bringing the stem where it wanted to go. There were six large leaves on her stem, and each one was frayed at the end, the little strips of leaves able to act as fingers to grasp things. “We’ll begin the class with a little question: is there anyone here who can identify the type of plant I am?”

Howard furrowed his brow. System, do you know what type of plant she is?

[She’s a Nine-Leafed Rose Devourer.]

Nine-leafed? Howard’s gaze traveled up and down Teacher Botan’s body. No matter how many times he counted, he only counted six leaves. Was there something wrong with his eyes? That was unlikely; rather, there seemed to be a problem with the system. It claimed to have all the knowledge in the world, but Howard didn’t expect it to fail at the most basic of mathematics; it couldn’t even count!

[Your chance of making a good impression on her is slipping away. Hurry up and answer her question.]

Howard raised his hand, and Teacher Botan’s antennae-like eyes swiveled straight towards him. “You, the first-place freshman that everyone wants to copy the answers from. What type of plant am I?”

Howard grimaced. Thanks to the cactus, Teacher Botan’s first impression of him was truly terrible. If his answer was wrong, wouldn’t she directly kick him out of the class? System, are you absolutely sure?

[If you doubt me again, I’ll smite you.]

Smite?

[Lightning will strike you, and you will perish without even leaving behind a pile of ashes.]

Howard swallowed. “You’re a Nine-Leafed Rose Devourer,” he said. What was worse? Getting kicked out of class for being dumb, or being smote by lightning? Howard could figure that answer out even if he used his feet to think instead of his brain.

Teacher Botan’s eyes widened, and her petals rippled with a pink light before returning to their bright-red hue. “Did an upperclassman tell you this? Why would a meathead student like you learn anything about plants?”

Howard blinked. Meathead? What part of him was a meathead? He might’ve looked a little ugly, and his body might’ve been a bit large thanks to his muscles, but wasn’t it inappropriate to judge students based on their appearance? “I’m actually really interested in … everything. I’ve read all kinds of texts before.” A little lie couldn’t hurt, right? With the system in his mind, he could pass himself off as smart and studious.

“Is that so?” Teacher Botan pointed at a plant with one of her leaves. The classroom was inside of a greenhouse, and potted plants could be found all over. “What’s the name of this plant?”

[Violent Murder.]

Howard wasn’t sure if the system was telling him the answer or simply stating what it would do. System, that’s the name of the plant Teacher Botan pointed at, right?

[Yes.]

“Violent Murder,” Howard said, thanking his lucky stars the system didn’t want to tear him to bits.

“And this one?” Teacher Botan asked, pointing at another plant. It was red, and it looked like a dying rabbit.

[Final Gasp.]

Howard was a bit unnerved by how ominous the plants’ names were, but he still chose to answer. “Final Gasp.”

Teacher Botan pointed at another plant that was half-buried in soil. “What about this?”

[Brain-Digging Tubers.]

“Brain-Digging Tubers,” Howard said, goosebumps forming down his back. Why were they called Brain-Digging Tubers?

[They explode and violently eject their seeds when an animal approaches. Those seeds penetrate the animals’ skulls, usually through their eyes, and takes root inside of their brains.]

He might’ve thought it, but he didn’t want to know! Wasn’t the system only supposed to respond if he addressed it in his mind first? Did it make a mistake?

[…Shut up, or I’ll smite you. I do what I want.]

Question marks appeared above Howard’s head. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Wait a minute; he didn’t get himself into anything—the system had chosen him like some kind of parasite! Without warning, thunder boomed from outside the classroom, and the sky turned dark. Thanks to the greenhouse being made of glass, Howard could see the lightning snaking through the clouds by simply angling his head upwards.

[I’ll really smite you if you don’t shut up.]

Howard wanted to cry. How was he supposed to shut off his own thoughts!?